


A New World

by FictionalExcrement



Series: A New World [1]
Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionalExcrement/pseuds/FictionalExcrement
Summary: A story about how Faye and Kratos met.





	1. A New World

**Author's Note:**

> There are many unanswered questions about Faye. I made some assumptions because of how little we know. This may or may not turn into a series depending on if I can come up with somewhere for the story to go. Leave a comment & feedback if you'd like to see more of this.

The flakes of snow drifted down, blanketing the forest floor. Kratos grunted, laying down the wood he had gathered for his new home. The morning was cold, the same as when he had arrived here. It had been nearly a fortnight since then.

It was odd for him to see a land that was not suffering under the hand of some god or another. The woods here were peaceful. Kratos listened to the sounds of it; the chirping of birds, and the swaying of leaves. He breathed deep of the chill air. It filled him with a sense of... something.

_Hope is what we fight with when all else is lost._

The memory made him clench his jaw. _Enough_ , he thought firmly. He had work to do.

Ω

Faye prowled through the woods, the snow crunching underfoot. The deer was ahead, unaware of her presence. It grazed along the edge of the river, looking for food under the blanket of snow. Its antlers glowed blue from the residual magicks of the Vanir that had resided in Midgard. Faye was certain the blue glow signified that the deer had some hidden magical ability, but she wasn’t certain which.

She knelt beside a tree a distance away from the animal, breathing steadily. She took out her bow and took an arrow from her quiver. Nocking the arrow, she breathed deep, and drew to her chest. _Accuracy over speed_ , she thought, and loosed.

The arrow flew, but a sudden sound in the woods made the deer turn away. The arrow hit the deer in its rump, instead of its neck. The beast squealed loudly and bolted. Faye cursed and chased after it. Snow and branches crunched under her feet as she chased after the deer. The cold wind ruffled her auburn hair as she ran, determined to not let her prey escape. She ducked under a branch as it whizzed past. The forest here was thick, but the deer still ran frantically, for longer than she expected. Finally, after a time, it burst out onto a large clearing, Faye not far behind it. As it ran straight through the clearing, Faye stopped and reached for an arrow. _An easy shot_ , she thought. She nocked it quickly and drew. She was about to loose when she heard an impact. The deer stopped dead in its tracks, and its hindquarters flew into the air as if it had hit a stone wall. 

Faye gaped. As the deer was right in front of her, in her haste, she hadn’t noticed the man that the deer was running towards. He stood looking down at it, his fist bloody. Faye’s eyes widened in shock. _He punched it?_ she thought incredulously. 

He looked toward her, his expression hard. The man was bald, and muscled like an ox, with skin as pale as any she’d seen. He had a scraggly beard that looked like it must’ve been several weeks worth of growth. He wore a simple leather shoulder guard against the cold and a skirt-like garment with strange patterns on the fabric. The man’s most notable feature, however, was his tattoo. A red streak across his chest – which looked even more striking due to the paleness of his skin – curling around the shoulder and over his head, ending on his face, across his left eye. 

Which people did markings like that belong to? Faye had never seen such a pattern before. She walked closer to him. 

“You killed my prey, stranger,” she said. 

The man held her gaze, saying nothing. “I suspect you made the noise that made me miss my shot,” she said, blowing a lock of hair out her face. “And I never miss.” Faye examined the pile of wood behind the man, and the cabin he looked to be building. She moved closer to him, within thirty paces. “Who are you?” she asked. 

He tensed visibly, setting his jaw. “No one. Take your beast and go,” he said. Faye was surprised at the deep cadence of his voice. _The voice of a leader_ , she remembered, the thought coming unbidden to her. 

Her father had always said that when teaching her and her brothers. _Before anything else, a leader must have a commanding voice_. He had had a voice that could break stone, not unlike the man that stood before her. 

“Very well,” Faye said. She came closer and knelt down beside the deer. The man backed up further, not taking his eyes off her. _Wary, this one_ , Faye thought. 

She examined the deer’s head where the man had hit it. She knew what she would see but was still surprised. The deer’s skull had quite soundly shattered under the force of the man’s punch, blood and brains leaking out. “Quite the fist you’ve got there, stranger,” she said. 

The man made no reply, he only stood there, his gaze unwavering. Faye studied him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, that much she could tell. But there was an unmistakable tenseness about him. _Who are you?_ she wondered. _And how did you get through my barrier?_ He couldn’t be Aesir, that much she knew for certain. Not only was this part of the forest invisible to them, they couldn’t get in even if they wanted to. _Besides_ , she thought, _I know of no Aesir who even remotely resembles this man._

She looked back down at the deer and got to work cutting up the meat. She cut up the choicest parts, cutting up as much as she could carry, and packed it into her satchel. When she was done, she cleaned her hands in the snow. The snow bled from white, to pink, to red. She wiped her hands with a cloth and stood up.

Ω

Kratos watched as she stood up. She blew a lock of hair from her eyes and looked at him.

“I’ll leave the rest for you, stranger,” she said, fastening her knife at her belt. “You look like you could use it,” she said, her mouth quirking into a half-smile. 

The woman was dressed appropriately for the hunt. Leather jerkin for mobility, with iron studding for protection, along with a bearskin for warmth. Her hair was auburn, and pulled up into a bun. She backed away, her blue eyes still looking at him curiously. When she was far enough, she turned around and jogged off into the forest. 

Kratos let out a small breath. He didn’t like that gaze, it was too discerning. _This is not good_ , he thought, gritting his teeth. He hadn’t seen anyone in these woods in all the time he’d been here, so why now? 

All Kratos wanted was to be alone. It wasn’t good for him to be near people. He could only hope that he wouldn’t see her again. 

_A vain hope, I'd wager_ , he thought. He didn’t doubt that the woman would be back. Those eyes of hers had been too curious for his liking. 

He sighed. 

_Back to work._


	2. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation to the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your positive feedback on the last chapter. :) You guys really inspired me to keep the story going. This chapter is a bit longer than the last. I was only just getting my bearings in the last chapter, so I didn't know at the time where the story would go. Luckily, I figured out a path. This chapter picks up right where the last one left off.

Faye stepped inside quickly and took off her satchel and bow, laying them down beside the door in her haste. She shut the door against the cold, placing her left hand on the center of the door with her ring and pinky finger folded against the wood. With the tips of three other fingers touching the wood, Faye brought up her right hand and made a fist. She closed her eyes and with swift and strong motions of her fist, drew a symbol on the door.

“ _Varða,_ ” she whispered, breathing out the word. She opened her eyes as the lines she’d made in the wood glowed with a soft light, then went out. The word meant _Protect_ in her tongue.

She felt the tension seep out of her as she finished placing the ward on her home. She sighed and sat down with her back against the door. _It won’t be enough_ , she thought. The ward on her home was an extra precaution, but she doubted its effectiveness in keeping the stranger out if he really wanted to get in.  The ward she’d placed on the forest had failed in that, but she didn’t know why _. I don’t know where he’s from or what he wants_ , she thought uneasily. _He could be working for the Aesir._

Perhaps her worries were misplaced, it seemed to her that this stranger wanted to be left alone just as much as she did. Even still, she couldn’t let her guard down and get careless, especially since he’d inadvertently shown her his strength. _He was no ordinary man_ , she thought. _I need to be sure_.

Faye stood up and walked to her bookshelf. Her cabin was of a simple design, but large enough to be comfortable. There were only two rooms, however; the living room and her bedroom. The bookshelf stood in her room. It contained a wide variety of works that delved into the many creatures and peoples that exist and have existed in the Nine Realms. All of them were written in different languages, coinciding with the realm the authors resided in – from Asgard to Vanaheim – which was no problem for her as she was literate in all of them. Faye searched for anything that might give her an inkling into who the man had been.

She selected a book and sat on her bed. “Definitely not a dwarf,” she murmured, flipping a page. “Not Aesir, not Vanir, not Elvish, not. . .” she stopped short. This page contained an entry on her people. She grit her teeth, reading the words.

_The Jötunn ‘people’ – if one can call them as such – are a culture of brutes and mongrels. Why, the word “Jötunn” itself has had the original meaning of “glutton” or “man-eater,” in the sense of personifying chaos. A bloodthirsty culture that makes the Light Elves and Dark Elves look like squabbling children. The Jötunn have been warring with the Aesir since before King Odin ascended to the throne of Asgard. Since his ascension, however, they have been supressed a great deal by Véurr Odinson, and his hammer, Mjölnir. Every man, woman and child across the Nine Realms knows of Thor’s righteous strength, but the Jötunn know it better than most._

Faye slammed the book shut, clenching her jaw so hard it hurt. She had read that passage before, and it had made her just as angry before. The book had been written by a Light Elf author. “Wretched bastard,” she cursed him. He knew nothing of the suffering of her people. She had lost all she loved at the hands of that murderer he praised. Her father, her brothers. . .  her mother. She felt tears well up in her eyes. “Wretched bastard—,” her voice broke. Her entire people had been brought down to heel by the Aesir, with Thor at their forefront.

Faye threw the book down and wiped her eyes. _I’ve come too far to fail now_ , she resolved, trying to strengthen herself. She stood up and walked to the trunk at the foot of her bed. The trunk was covered in intricate carvings of runes from her homeland. She knelt down and pressed down on one of the runes. A key popped out.

 _I need to get back out there again,_ she thought. Faye unlocked the trunk and opened it. The stranger would eventually do something to give himself away. In the trunk sat an axe of rare make, with a series of symbols carved into the axe head. _And when he does,_ Faye thought _, I’ll deal with him._  

  **Ω**

Kratos walked through the forest, feeling the brisk morning air on his skin. It was the morning after his encounter with the Huntress. His new home was almost completed and he’d come out here to harvest the last tree for his home. The fresh snow crunched under his feet as he walked, looking for a tree that suited him.

This new life Kratos had wandered into still felt strange to him. So different from who he was. His whole life, he’d been a soldier. A spartan. He had been forged in fire and tempered in blood. The memories that haunted him would never leave, he knew that now. But no more did he deny them, or hide from them like he once had. He knew what kind of man he had been. He knew what he had done. But as painful as those memories were, they had happened to him so long ago, it almost felt like another life. Kratos had brought out those memories with their sharp edges and handled them so often, they had dulled.

But. . . he had also gotten his vengeance.

That should have brought him peace, shouldn’t it have? He had killed everyone who had wronged him. He had destroyed Olympus and brought low the gods of men. So why didn’t he feel anything other than a dull ache? A nothingness that clawed at him from the inside?

He thought often on the man he had been in his final days as the Ghost of Sparta. He remembered seeing only red. Only his desire for vengeance. It had raged inside him every moment of every day.  It was that rage that had made him beat his own father to death.

But through that red rage, he also remembered seeing a light. A light so blue and bright it made him shudder even now to think of it. Athena had claimed that it was her light. Her power. But he had immediately recognized that for the lie that it had been.

_Hope is what we fight with when all else is lost._

Kratos wanted to believe that that man he had been was unrecognizable to him now. But he did not believe that. He could still feel that man inside him, simmering just under the surface. He had not changed.

_Look around at what you have wrought._

Kratos stopped at a tree, feeling the rough white bark. “Pandora . . .” he whispered.

He didn’t know why his mind kept drifting to her. That wound was still fresh. He had failed Pandora just as he had failed his family. And the memory of her had not dulled. It was still just as sharp as it had been. He. . .

_What is that?_

Kratos bent down, further examining the tree he was looking at. There was a handprint on its trunk, gold in colour. He thought he could see it glowing faintly, but that might have just been the sun. He touched it, but it did not come off on his fingers as he thought it would.

Something tugged inside Kratos. A feeling he could not define. He stepped away from the tree, but could not say why. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was more. Kratos backed up further and turned around. He found a tree without a handprint and began cutting.

**Ω**

Faye approached quietly, careful not to rustle the bush. Fortunately, any noise she might make was drowned out by the noise Red was making. She got down inside the bush in a prone position, poking her head out to get a good look. She was almost twenty yards from where he worked. Far enough to be safe and to get a good look.

 _You’ve made quite the progress, Red_ , she thought. The cabin he was building was almost finished. It was a standard log cabin, with very little in terms of a personal touch. It looked simple, while being rigid and militaristic in design. Faye watched him work. He moved and worked as she’d expect from a solider. None of his movements or mannerisms seemed to be without purpose and discipline. As she watched, he chopped at a trunk of wood at his feet. The trunk was at least two feet in diameter, as best as Faye could tell. As he chopped, however, his swings suddenly became faster and more forceful. This went on for a few moments, before he yelled, swinging his axe so hard, the axe head broke off as it hit the trunk.

Red was breathing heavily. He looked down at the broken stick he held and threw it aside in a gesture of disgust. Faye’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden outburst. The stoic soldier she’d seen just moments ago was gone. He sat down on the trunk and sighed, looking down at his hands. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t his hands he was looking at. He touched the bandages on his right forearm, which had come loose.

The bandages were not clean, as best as she could tell. They were on both his forearms. And both were covered in dried blood. _Wounds?_ Faye wondered. Red began tying the bandages back into place with a slow deliberateness. She swore he was saying something as he did it, but was too far to hear the words. _I won’t learn anything by watching from a bush_ , she thought, annoyed. She got up.

  **Ω**

Kratos carefully tied the bandages back into place. The pain of these wounds still had not dulled, and along with the pain came the blood. That would’ve been surprising to him if it were a new thing, but he had lived with this pain since the day he’d called out Ares’ name. It was less intense at times, fading to faint ache. But at other times, it felt as if those chains were still burning into his skin just as they had that day, marking his greatest failure. _Better to have died that day,_ he thought. Instead, he had been given the Blades.

Kratos heard snow crunch in front of him. He immediately looked up, becoming alert. Ahead he saw the Huntress, standing a distance away. She was dressed in the same garb as the day before, leather armor with iron studding and a bearskin for warmth. Her skin was pale, her face flushed from the cold. It was – Kratos admitted to himself grudgingly -- a pleasant contrast to her strikingly auburn hair, which she still wore in a loose bun. There was something different, however. She didn’t carry her bow this time. And Kratos could see the blade of an axe poking over her shoulder. She was looking at him with a strange expression. “You broke your axe, Red,” she observed.

 _Red?_ Kratos stood up. “I told you to leave me be.”

The Huntress nodded. “You did.”

“So, why are you here? What do you want of me?”

“We have a problem here, Red,” she began.

“Why do you call me that?”

Her lips quirked in an amused expression. “You didn’t give me your name. I had to call you something.”

Kratos grunted. He had no intention of giving her his name. He didn’t think anyone here would know him by name, but he still would not take that chance. “What problem?” he asked.

The Huntress sighed and sat down on a stump a distance away. “You,” she said.

“Me?”

“This is my forest, Red. I can’t have someone here who I do not know. Tell me who you are.”

Kratos walked over to where the broken axe head lay. He picked it up, brushing the snow off and examined it. “No,” he said.

“ _Yes_ ,” she snapped, annoyed. “That was not a request. Who do you work for?”

_Work for?_

The axe head was still in good condition. Kratos lay it down on the trunk at his feet. “No one.”

The Huntress stood up, her posture was tense in a way he hadn’t seen before. “Fine. I will ask plainly. Do you work for the Aesir?”

“I do not know of whom you speak,” he replied. “I only wish to be left in p- “she cut him off. “ _Do not_ play dumb with me,” she said, her face was twisted in anger as she spoke. “The Aesir are responsible for the butchery of my family and my people.”

“I fail to understand how that is my concern,” Kratos snapped, his own patience running thin.

The Huntress unclasped her axe from her back. Before Kratos could move, her form fuzzed around the edges and vanished, and the axe was at his throat.

“You _do not_ want this fight,” she said from behind him, her voice razor thin.

This was what he had feared. This was why he had almost given up that day. Everywhere he went, he had to fight just to be allowed to live. He had to kill all those around him just to have some peace.  He had always been an instrument of war, and wherever he went, war was never far behind. Perhaps he did not deserve peace. Perhaps, a life of blood was the only thing he had earned.

 _I am tired of this_ , Kratos thought wearily.

“I will answer your questions,” he said.


	3. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation to the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I realize most people have probably forgotten about this fic by now. I had writers block for a while, and when I got busy with other things, I couldn't find the inspiration to continue it. I've taken a direction with this chapter that I feel does justice to the characters. I hope you guys enjoy it. I welcome any constructive criticism.
> 
> The next chapter won't be so long in coming, I promise.

Faye sat on a tree stump across from Red, who sat on the trunk of the tree he’d been cutting. A light snowfall had started, the flakes drifting down slowly. She was surprised when he had yielded. He had been abrasive from the start, and unwilling to cooperate with her, and she had been all but convinced that it would come to blood. But now, as she looked at him, Faye could see something else. He looked tired beyond anything she’d seen before.

“All right, now, who are you?” Faye asked.

He looked at her for a moment. She hadn’t noticed his eyes before, they were of a dark amber colour. “Kratos,” he said.

Faye started. _Kratos?_ It was not a name she had ever heard before. She had knowledge of all Nine Realms, some more than others, but this name was not one fitting any of them. 

“Do you work for the Aesir?” she asked, insistent. “How did you find my forest?”

Kratos drew his lips to a line in an annoyed expression. “I do not lie to you,” he said curtly, “I do not know of whom you speak. I am not...” he hesitated, clenching his fist. “I am not of this land.”

 _Not of this land?_ Faye felt a chill. _That’s why my ward failed_ , she thought. The magic Faye had employed to create the ward around her forest was effective only on the creatures and beings that resided within the Nine Realms. If it had failed to keep this man out... then that meant something entirely different.

A memory came to her, unbidden. _It all leads back to investiture, Laufey_ , her mother’s words. _It is what all beings have. Gods most of all._

She had learned about it as a girl, that and more. Her mother had been nothing if not diligent. Faye tried to recall her words.

“Investiture is the energy that exists in all things, Laufey,” she had said. “Be they mortal or god, living or not. It is the essence that permeates all realms.”

Faye knew, however, that ‘investiture’ was simply a broad term applied to magicks of all natures. Different beings could have different types of investiture. For instance, an Aesir god was fundamentally different from a Jötunn not only in an anatomical and cultural sense, but also a magical sense. Aesir magic had an entirely different physical signature from Jötunn magic. The same rule applied to dark elves, light elves, dwarves, and all others. The ward she had created comprised of a powerful spell that blocked all investiture from the Nine Realms from detecting or entering the warded area of the forest. If this man had gotten through it...

Faye swallowed, dragging her mind back to the present. “Where is it that you come from?” she asked slowly. Kratos looked at her, his amber eyes staring into hers. This man was not easy to read, but Faye sensed anger in those eyes. Buried deep, but at the same time just under the surface. It made her shiver, or perhaps that was the cold.

“It does not matter,” he said flatly. _Does not matter?_ Faye felt her annoyance rise, and was about to object, but he spoke again. “I do not mean you or yours any harm, Huntress. That is all the truth that you need know.”

Faye pursed her lips, thinking. _Do I dare trust this man?_ “Why did you come here?” she asked him.

Kratos looked away, hesitating. “To get away,” he said. “From war.”

**Ω**

Kratos clenched his jaw. He dared not say more, lest she figure out who he truly was. He feared he had already said too much. Surely, he hadn’t said enough for her to figure it out. He had told her his name out of necessity, but no one here could know him... could they?

 _I am not good at this_ , Kratos thought, grinding his teeth. He had never done it this way. Almost all those he had met in his life had sought his blood first, not his words. He had been a soldier and a god, he hadn’t needed or wanted to talk his way out of anything. Even now, his hands itched, expecting a fight that – he hoped – wouldn’t come. _I am still that man_ , Kratos thought. _A killer._ He had not changed. Perhaps this was a fool’s quest. A quiet life? He knew nothing of that. His life had never been this way – the way it had been these past few weeks. He’d had a lot of time to think, and it all seemed to circle around one thing in Kratos’ mind. He felt _uncomfortable_. He felt uncomfortable with this quiet. With peace. And he thought he knew why. He simply did not deserve it.

Kratos knew he didn’t deserve this life. It was too good for him. He didn’t deserve a good life, not after all he had done. He had killed, and killed, and killed, and _killed._ It had ended with Zeus’ face reduced to a bloody ruin. His father. Kratos didn’t know why he’d gotten up that day. Why hadn’t he just given up? He didn’t know the answer to that. But he had gotten up.

And now here he was, infringing upon the territory of someone who had her own fears; her own losses. He looked back at the Huntress. Her red hair looked striking against the snow of the forest. She sat there on the stump, studying him with a discerning gaze. Her expression was one of hesitance and mistrust. Kratos didn’t blame her, why would he? If what she had said about these Aesir was true, Kratos himself would not be as understanding, were he in her place.

He breathed a deep sigh, reaching a decision. _Enough of this_ , he thought, standing up.

“I will leave,” Kratos said finally.

**Ω**

Faye looked up sharply. Kratos had stood, saying something she’d not expected. “Leave?” Faye asked. “Yes,” he said. “It is clear that you do not want me here.”

This was the last thing Faye had expected from this man. He picked up the axehead he had broken and its handle and started back towards his nearly finished cabin. “I will be gone by first light,” Kratos said without turning back. Faye bit her lip, and surprisingly felt a rush of guilt. That annoyed her, why should she feel guilty? This is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? She could not have someone here who she didn’t trust. There was too much at stake for her, this man was a liability, a risk. The ward around her forest was the only thing protecting her from the might of all Asgard. She still needed to figure out her purpose here, why her mother had wanted this. She couldn’t do that if she had to be on her guard every day about someone she didn’t know. _I owe this man nothing._ Yet... the guilt was still there.

Faye shut her eyes hard. The memories flooding back to her. Of war. Of blood on the snow. She remembered that day. There had been many like it, but that day in particular had nearly broken her. The day she had lost her youngest brother. It had taken her mother’s embrace and her soft words to bring her back from the brink. She had fighting a war nearly her whole life, and had seen the risks complete strangers had taken to shelter her family from the Aesir. Could she do less for someone similar?

 _They paid the price, though_ , she thought, bitterly. The Aesir had not spared those who had sheltered the Jötnar. Faye cursed at her guilt, her indecision. This should’ve been an easy choice for her... but it wasn’t.

**Ω**

Kratos knelt down in his cabin, gathering his belongings, such as they were. He didn’t have much, but he had gathered various things from around this forest during his time here. There were ruins in this forest, which he had foraged from, looking for anything he could use. He had found an axehead, which he now used. He had made the handle himself, tying it tightly to the axehead. _Not tight enough_ , he thought, as it had come loose. He had also found many artifacts. They weren’t of much use to him but he’d seen strange runes drawn on them that he could only surmise was the local tongue. He’d also seen the local wildlife – namely the massive deer with glowing antlers – which was uniquely different from the type he was used to.

Yes, this land had its beauty. He had enjoyed his time here, but now that time had come to an end. He didn’t mind, however, he would go someplace else, he-

“Kratos,” a voice called from outside. The Huntress.

Kratos tensed, glancing at the latch in his floor. That was the first thing he had made. A place in the ground to put his past. He quickly stood up and walked to the door, opening it. The Huntress stood there in her leathers and bearskin, the head of her axe poking above her shoulder. Kratos couldn’t help but admire the metalwork. His attention, however, was drawn to the Huntress’ face. Her expression was one of... discomfort? Why should that be? He had told her he would leave.

She let out a breath and spoke. “You do not have to leave, Kratos,” she said, speaking his name for the first time. He didn’t know why, but it sounded odd from her lips. A small part of him had liked the nickname she gave him. “You can stay here,” the Huntress said. “But I will have something of you first.”

He didn’t know what had brought upon this change of heart in her, nor what she could want of him. “I do not have any—” Kratos started, but she cut him off. “Your word,” she said, stepping closer to him, an arm’s length away. She was a few fingers shorter than Kratos, but she stood firm, looking him in the eyes. “I am not a stranger to war, Kratos,” she said. “I know what it is to be always running.

“So, I will let you stay. But I will have your word of _honor_ that you are who you say you are. And that you will _not_ be a liability to me,” the Huntress finished, her voice had become as stone, firm and implacable.

“Very well,” Kratos said. “You have my word.” The Huntress breathed out, and nodded slowly.

“Do not wander far from your home,” she said. “This forest is protected from those who would do me harm. If they sense your presence, it will not take long for all my work to come crashing down.”

This condition surprised Kratos, but he thought he knew what she meant. “The handprints on the trees?” he guessed.

The Huntress tensed visibly, looking at him with a  baffled expression, confirming his suspicions. “How...?” she sputtered.

“I have seen a few, they glow faintly,” he said, faintly amused at her bewilderment, but keeping his face stoic. “I thought it prudent not to cut them down.”

The Huntress’ eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in disbelief. “How could you know?” she asked, incredulous.

Kratos shrugged, “Instinct.”

She looked at him, incredulous. “Instinct, is it?” she repeated flatly.

She stepped closer to him, so close he could see the freckles on her nose. She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly serious. “I am trusting you, Red,” her voice was razor thin, the same it had been when her axe was at his throat. Her tense tone, however, was at odds with the amiable nickname she’d given him.  “Do _not_ make me regret my decision.”

She lingered, looking at him in the eyes for a moment, then turned around and started to leave. Kratos did not get intimidated, he did not feel fear as other men did. That was not a boast to him, simply the truth. Yet the Huntress had an intensity about her. She knew how to fight, and was not afraid to show it. Her trust in him would not extend far, but Kratos had no desire to betray that trust.

“Huntress,” Kratos called. She was a distance away now, she turned around to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “You did not give me your name,” he said.

She studied him for a moment before replying. “Faye,” she said. “Faye, the Huntress.” Kratos could see her lips quirk into a faint smile as she turned around and jogged off.


	4. Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faye digs deeper, and Kratos confronts his truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a tough one to break. It took me a while to get over my writers block and find a path, but I found inspiration in one of my favorite novels. Hope you guys enjoy.

Faye entered and closed the door. She didn’t think she needed the extra ward on her door this time, she had something more important to be about. She needed to know who he really was. Kratos. That was not a name she was familiar with. Faye took off her bearskin and walked to her bookshelf, observing the titles she had. It wasn’t very big, not by her standards, at least. It held exactly sixty-three books, and she had read every one. Unfortunately, none of these had the information she needed.

It also didn’t help that this _Kratos_ was one of the most reticent men she had ever met. She doubted he would have even given her his name, had it not nearly come to blood. She still didn’t know why he had yielded.  She knew for certain that he could fight. He was muscled like an ox, and she suspected that his show of strength that she’d seen the other day was only a fraction of his true power.

 _So how to find out more about him?_ Faye wondered. There was only one way she could think of, but it would have to wait till morning _._ It would be dark soon, and Faye felt tired and hungry. She prepared the deer meat and sat on the bed with her plate. She thought back on the day’s events as she ate. The arrival of this stranger in her forest still baffled Faye. She had lived here on Midgard for four years now, at the behest of her Mother, but this was not something she had prepared Faye for. This had all been her doing, but Faye still didn’t know why, all she knew was that her Mother thought it of the utmost importance. Faye had not strayed from her commands; the commands she’d spoken to Faye the last time she had seen her.

“You must do this, Laufey,” her Mother had said, cradling Faye’s head in her hands. Faye remembered her tears, her confusion and her desperation. “But _why_?” she’d replied, clutching at her Mother’s clothes, never wanting to let go. “Can’t you come with me? _Please_ , Mother.”

Faye’s eyes filled with tears at the memory, her appetite fleeing.

“I cannot, child,” Faye remembered how her voice had wavered, as her Mother had tried to hold back her own tears. She’d given Faye a smile instead, her eyes glassy. “You are my daughter, Laufey. I have taught you all I can, and I have the utmost confidence in you,” she’d said, taking Faye into an embrace.

“I can’t do this without you,” Faye whimpered.

“ _You can_ , Laufey. You _must_ ,” Mother said. “It will all make sense for you one day. I cannot tell you when that day will come, but it will.”

That day, Faye had been forced to flee from the home they’d made in Vanaheim. The Aesir had found what was left of them, and had come to finish what they’d started. Her Mother had forced her to leave before the fighting started.

Faye sat on her bed, her meal hardly touched. She was crying softly. Crying for the Mother she’d lost, for her brothers, and for her father, who the Aesir had taken from her so long ago. The day her Mother had spoken of hadn’t come. She had spent four years alone, and for what?

The tears made sleep come easier to her that night.

⬗

The next morning, Faye looked through the trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside, she found an artifact given to her by a dear friend. It was a near translucent stone. A little bigger than marble and perfectly round. She felt at the smooth surface of the glass, and she could see the small gemstone inside it that would serve as the beacon. She stood and walked to her living room, feeling inside herself at her reserves of power. The same power she had used against Kratos, phasing between reality to move faster than he could have anticipated. She felt at it now, a thrumming inside her veins. She closed her eyes and channeled it through her arm and through the hand that held the stone. An icy sensation washed over her as the power invested the stone she held. Faye opened her eyes and saw the gemstone inside glowing with a golden light. Her friend held a similar stone that was this one’s opposite. It would glow now, signaling to him that Faye wanted to see him.

Not many people could see dwarves travel in-between realms as they did. It simply happened too fast for their minds to catch up. But Faye’s mind was not so slow. Sindri’s arrival manifested as a literal tear in the fabric of this realm. Perhaps tear was the wrong word. It wasn’t as chaotic as an actual realm tear, it was much subtler than that. She could see in front of her as a vertical fissure opened up, it was pitch black inside, a three-dimensional opening to the realm-between-realms, right in her home. The opening radiated stark violet waves of energy as it floated. The energy had a thrumming quality to it, not unlike a heartbeat. Sindri stepped from the portal. As he did, the opening closed behind him immediately. Sindri wore his golden armour, fitted to his lean frame. He had shaved his beard, but kept his hair in a neat ponytail. The expression on his face as he stood there was one of pure joy. He grinned and outstretched his arms and took her in an embrace as her arms were pinned to her side.

“FAYE!” he exclaimed against her breasts. “How _long_ has it been?”

“It’s—“ she began.

“Too long!”  Sindri said. It had only been two weeks since his last visit.

He let go of his embrace but still held her by the shoulders. “I missed you, too,” he said grinning. He stepped away, and looked around her cabin. “Ah!” he exclaimed, seeing her axe resting on her bed. He picked it up and inspected it. “How’s my axe treating you?” he asked. “It’s—“ Faye began.

Sindri held up a hand. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “ _It’s Brok’s too, Sindri,”_ he said in a mocking tone, sounding annoyingly like Faye herself when she’d said that to him. “You can’t blame me for not liking my brother, Faye. He is an insufferable blue monster!”

Faye prided herself on her speed, but against Sindri’s torrent of words, she was lucky to get a word in most of the time. He looked around the cabin again. “Do you have anything to eat? I haven’t had lunch and talking about Brok takes a lot out of me.” He walked to her pantry and grabbed an apple, taking out a kerchief and rubbing it fiercely until it shined. “Sindri,” Faye said finally.

He looked up and walked to her, taking a bite of the apple. It crunched. “Hm?” he said, chewing.

‘I need a favor,” she said. Sindri visibly deflated, bite of apple still in his mouth. “Oh,” he said quietly, chewing on his apple in a morose way. “So, you _didn’t_ call me for my company. I see,” he said, sounding comically glum.

“ _Sindri_ —” Faye said, exasperated. “ _No_ , no,” he said, raising his hands in front of him in a defensive way, apple still held in one. “No need to explain. I _realize_ our friendship is only a one-way Bifrost.”

He thumped down on her bed, throwing the apple lightly across the room. As it was about to hit the floor, a realm tear opened up and swallowed it.

“So,” Sindri said in a haughty tone. “What can I do for you, Great Giantess?”

 _“_ Okay, that’s it _,”_ Faye said, she walked up and gave him a thump on the head. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“For being a fool,” Faye huffed, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. She sat beside him, and gave him a proper hug. “You know I love you and Brok both.”

Sindri gave her a warm smile, rubbing at his head. “I know, Faye. And you know I can’t pass up an opportunity to tease you,” he said, grinning. Faye stuck her tongue out at him.

Brok and Sindri had been a constant light in her life since the day she’d met them. They helped her in any way they could and never asked anything in return, even making her a weapon unlike any she’d known before. She knew why, though. They had also created Mjölnir, the weapon that had brought her people low, wielded by Thor himself. They had been trying to balance the scales ever since, but the damage had already been done. Many of her people had had called her a fool and a traitor for trusting them. They’d cursed Brok and Sindri until their dying breath. Many Jötnar blamed them for the destruction Thor had wrought upon their kind with that cursed weapon. She often wondered herself if she hated them for what they had done; after all, a few good deeds done could never balance out the genocide of an entire people. But every time she thought that way it made her sick. She couldn’t blame them for the way a murderer had chosen to use their weapon. She knew the Aesir, and she knew Thor. If Mjölnir had never been created, they would have found another way. Another weapon. She had no doubt of that in her mind. The tension between the Jötnar and the Aesir, in her mind, was destined to boil over sooner or later. Mjölnir had only accelerated that inevitability.

They sat there for a few moments, her head on Sindri’s shoulder. “I need your help.”

The smile faded from Sindri’s face when he heard her tone, replaced by a solemn expression. “Anything for you, Faye,” he said, turning to her. “Are you in trouble?”

Faye bit her lip. “No...” she said, “Not yet, at least.”

Sindri’s brow furrowed. “What’s happened?” he asked, concerned.

“There is a newcomer to my forest,” she said slowly. “My barrier was not able to stop him entering. I need information about who he is.”

Sindri’s eyes widened in surprise. “ _Not able to stop him_?” he repeated, incredulous. “Faye, that cannot be.”

“ _It is_ ,” she insisted. “I confronted him, Sindri. He insists that he wishes me no harm, that he only wishes to live in peace. But do I dare trust him?” Faye stood up and started pacing across her room.

“You confronted him?” Sindri said, surprised.

“Yes,” Faye said, “It nearly came to blood... But he yielded.”

Sindri’s brow furrowed in thought. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“I need information,” Faye said, still pacing. “Have you ever heard the name ‘Kratos?’”

“Kratos?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. After a moment, he shook his head. “It’s not a name I’ve ever heard.”

“Neither have I,” Faye replied. “My books here aren’t sufficient.”

Faye turned to him then, her expression grim. “This man, Kratos, says he isn’t of this land. I need to know who he is and where he has come from. There’s only one place that I know that could have the information I seek,” Faye bit her lip, hesitating. “Týr ’s Vault,” she finished, but before Sindri could reply, she continued quickly. “I know this is asking a lot, Sindri. I—”

Sindri held up a hand, interrupting her. “It’s alright, Faye,” he said, his expression solemn. “I will bring you what I find.”

Faye felt a rush of emotion at his easy acceptance of such a task. They both knew the reputation Týr’s Vault had. Yet, Sindri agreed without a second thought. It was true that he could travel there easily, what with his ability to slip in-between realms, but it was still dangerous. Týr’s Vault housed many traps that could catch the unwary easily. But it was also the only place that had an extensive library filled with books gathered by Týr from the realms he had visited.  She rushed over to Sindri and took him in an embrace.

“ _Thank you._ I’m sorry to ask this of you,” she whispered. “Please, be careful.”

Sindri broke the embrace and looked to her. “Does this mean you like me more than Brok?” he asked, with a comically hopeful expression. The question and his expression caught her completely off-guard and she huffed out a genuine laugh.

“Shut up,” she said, pinching his nose.

  **Ω**

Kratos sat on the stump, looking into the fire. The sun was near to setting, he couldn’t see it now, as it had sunk behind the trees, but the western horizon was a swath of colors. Red, orange, blue, pink, swirling and shifting. It was a far cry from how the skies had looked above Olympus on that day. Yet even as bright and beautiful this land was, Kratos’ thoughts were not so pleasant.

He had built a spit above the fire, where the deer meat roasted. He was hungry, even though he did not need as much food to sustain him as mortal men did. Hungry as he was, however, his eyes were drawn to that fire instead. It was very different from the flames he knew, the flames that had seared his skin; but, at the same time, they were the same.

Kratos gritted his teeth as the pain spiked. The familiar pain of his chains searing his flesh. He had long since taken them off, however, hidden them away under the earth. Hoping he would never need them again. But... also hoping he would.

He had tried to avoid thinking about this. Stuffed it away in the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it, let alone speak it. But his near clash with the Huntress had stoked that flame inside him, the flame that had burned down to mere embers during his time here.

It was the flame of the fight, of battle. Kratos’ hands had itched when the Huntress’ axe was at his throat. _You do not want this fight_ , the Huntress had said, her voice as sharp as her axe.

But he _had_. Gods curse him, he had wanted that fight. It was a truth that he hadn’t admitted, even to himself, until now. Kratos couldn’t shake the feeling that the life he now lived was too mundane, too quiet. Battle had always made his blood come alive, a thrill in his veins that made this new life of his seem like being dead. That thrill had been most present when he’d been a solider, when his life had balanced on a sword’s edge. After he had ascended to godhood, however, the thrill of battle had become a muted thing. He’d wondered why that was, and realized that it was because godhood had made it too easy. Battle had become a trifle when killing men had become akin to stepping on insects. He remembered how angry that had made him. That anger had driven him to seek out more and more battles, just to satiate his need.

But the thrill had returned in glorious form when he had faced Olympus. In the Olympians, Kratos had faced a real challenge to his skill. His life had once again balanced on a sword’s edge. But... he’d faced them... and he’d won. And now, here he was. He’d come here to get away from it all, yet here he was, longing for it, even as that _nothingness_ clawed at him from the inside. The nothingness that told him that it had all been for naught. Kratos closed his eyes, letting out a hissing breath. He was frustrated at himself. The Huntress had let him stay here, let him have some semblance of peace, even though it had gone against her better judgement. Would he ruin this chance as well? He did not wish to give credence to her mistrust, yet his thoughts continued to circle around that itch he felt.

Kratos suddenly came alert, his eyes snapping open. He’d heard something. A twig snapping, snow crunching. The sky had gone mostly dark now, its shade a deep violet. How long had he sat with his eyes closed?

She stood beyond the fire, in the darkness. Kratos’ fire lit her only faintly, as she was a distance away. Her auburn hair seemed to glow faintly from the firelight, her most notable feature. She wore it loose now, he noticed, not in the bun she had worn the last two times he’d seen her. It came down past her shoulders. Kratos glanced at the hunk of meat that had been cooking and cursed softly as he realized the side that faced the fire had burnt. Kratos reached out and cut at the burnt side with his knife, twisting the spit so that it cooked the other side. He kept an eye on the Huntress – Faye, now – whilst he worked. He tasted the thin slice of charred meat, chewing as he eyed Faye. _Why does she not speak?_

“You are welcome to my fire, Huntress,” Kratos offered. Perhaps that would drive away the thoughts that plagued him.

Faye walked closer slowly. He saw her now, the firelight reflected in her eyes. Kratos noted that she didn’t carry her axe this time. “I let you stay, Red,” she said slowly. “That does not make us friends.”

“No, it does not,” Kratos said. The charred meat wasn’t bad, he’d had worse soldier’s rations. He reached out and twisted the spit, rotating the meat to let it cook evenly. “But,” he continued. “I am also the only one here. In _your_ forest.” He said it in a way he knew would bother her. He wondered how long she had spent here alone. Of course, he didn’t know for that for certain, it was more of a hunch. She seemed to him a hard woman, and her trust an even harder thing to earn. He didn’t let her reply, however. “How long have you been alone?” he asked.

Faye flinched, almost imperceptibly. She drew her lips to a line, the muscles in her neck drawing taut. “That is none of your concern,” she said curtly. “Are you always this presumptuous toward those who aid you?”

Kratos cut off a piece of the roasting meat, that looked to be cooked well. “I have not met many who have ever aided me,” he said, taking a bite and chewing. “They have always sought my blood first.” Faye raised her eyebrow at this and scoffed softly. “I wonder why.”

As Kratos ate, Faye pulled out her belt knife and crouched at his fire. She cut off a slice of meat and speared it on the tip of her knife. “Well,” she said, bringing the slice to her lips. “Since this is _my_ forest, and _my_ deer you’ve cooked so well, I will have a taste.”

Kratos hid his amusement behind a stoic expression. “As you wish,” he said. Faye narrowed her eyes in annoyance at his indifferent tone, but took a bite and chewed, and her eyes betrayed a hint of surprise. “That’s not bad.”

Kratos grunted, chewing. “Needs salt,” he said.

Faye nodded thoughtfully as she ate. She finished her slice of meat and reached out to cut another, spearing it with her knife. She sat in front of the fire, comfortable in the snow. Kratos studied her. She stared at the fire as she ate, her expression distant. He was curious about this woman. She was as changeable as the winds, it seemed to him. A moment ago, she’d been annoyed at him for his presumptions, but now she sat, sharing his fire and his meal. _She is passionate_ , he thought. That much was clear from the way she had been adamant about defending her territory. But, if Kratos was any judge, she also seemed to desire company. He wondered at her goals here. Living in this forest alone, a magical barrier protecting her from her enemies. Why? Why not go somewhere they couldn’t reach?

The questions chewed at him, but he was hesitant to ask. _I have not given her much in the way of answers_ , he thought. If he began asking her prodding questions, would she decide to do the same?

“Huntress,” Kratos heard himself say.

She looked up from where she sat, eyes coming back from the distant place they had been.

“Yes?”

“Who are the Aesir?” he asked.

**Ω**

“Who are the Aesir?” Kratos asked.

Faye stiffened, her mood darkening. Memories bubbled from the back of her mind, of fighting, of running with her family. The abrupt question made her wonder why she had bothered to come out here again. She should have just waited until Sindri returned from the Vault. But he hadn’t told her how long his search would take, and after he had left, Faye had grown restless. She’d spent the afternoon alternating between sifting through her books and just pacing around her cabin. It was a wonder to her how she’d ever managed to spend four years like this. Sure, Sindri or Brok would come to see her from time to time, so she was never truly alone; but, they never stayed long. They had lives of their own, after all.

Considering that, Faye knew why she’d come to see Kratos again.

 _How long have you been alone?_ he’d asked, and the question had made her flinch in its veracity. Could he see through her so easily? _He is shrewder than he looks_ , she thought. Whatever it was, he was not wrong. Faye had been alone so long, the prospect of another person to talk with was too intriguing for her, even if that person may potentially be a danger to her goals here. _And_ , she thought wryly, _even if talking with him is like pulling teeth_.

Faye realized she hadn’t answered his question, losing herself in her thoughts. She looked to Kratos over the fire. His ashen skin reflected the fire in a ghostly way, his flowing red tattoo looking stark against the light. He didn’t prod her when she didn’t answer him, he only studied her, seeming comfortable in the silence.

“They...” Faye began, her voice dry. “They are gods. Enemies of my people.”

 _My people_ , she thought. She said that, even whilst knowing that she didn’t have a people any longer. _It will all make sense for you one day._ Faye clenched her teeth against the tears that threatened. _I must stop despairing,_ she thought, trying to strengthen her resolve. _I must trust in Mother’s words. It is all I have._

Kratos grunted, “I understand,” he said.

 _What does that mean?_ she wondered. He didn’t prod her further, but his reply left her curious.

“Do you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Gods bring naught but despair.”

Faye raised her eyebrows at this. He spoke with a flat tone, emotionless. _There is something here._  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

Kratos gave no reply.  After a moment, he stood up, giving her a start. “It is late,” Kratos said, kicking snow onto his fire and putting it out. Faye got to her feet, brushing the snow off her trousers. She stood there as he turned to go. She should’ve known that wouldn’t work. Faye couldn’t help but feel that this man kept himself on a tight leash. Always keeping himself back from speaking too much. As he walked back to his cabin, however, he stopped. Hesitating, he turned slowly, meeting her eyes through the darkness.

“I appreciate your aid, Faye.” he said. “I did not get the chance to say it before.”

Not waiting for a reply, he turned and walked to his cabin. It was the first time he’d called her by name.

⬗

Sleep came hard to her that night. She lay awake most of the night, in a haze of half sleep. The cabin melted around her, and Faye drifted through an undefinable blackness. Images shifted into view in front of her eyes. She saw her Mother’s face, weathered and strong. Her father, with his commanding voice that could, at the same time, be so warm and reassuring. She saw her brothers, smiling and joking with each other as they had so often. It was as if the war had never happened, her world hadn’t come crashing down. She felt an ache, deep in her chest, yearning for what could have been.

_It will all make sense for you one day._

A golden light shone around her, dominating her view. It dissipated, and Faye found herself standing... on a cliffside. The sun was hot overhead, the air dry. It took her eyes a moment to focus. _No_ , she thought in wonder. _Not just a cliffside. The Gaint’s Fingers_. She stood atop the tallest peak in Jötunheim. The tallest peak in all the realms. Voices echoed in her memory. Faye looked down at her homeland with sorrow. Corpses. Some large, some small. The voices grew insistent, distorted.

_The path ahead is difficult._

A man's voice. Her father? But... Faye hadn’t chosen this path. It had been laid out for her. By fate. By her Mother.

_You have to come back. You left me here alone._

A boy’s voice? She could not tell. Her senses were overwhelmed as the voices thundered, growing more distorted.

_Alone with him._

The voices washed over her. Faye fell to her knees, confused. She shivered, though the sun shone hot. Something was close. She could feel its insistence.

_Faye... What do I do?_

Faye gasped awake. She sat up, looking around frantically. Her cabin. What had that been? She shivered again, her breath coming rapidly. _A dream_ , she thought, trying to settle her thundering heart. _Only a dream_.

⬗

It was well past noon by the time Sindri returned. Faye had been waiting impatiently, pacing around her cabin and periodically reading to pass the time. The dream she’d had had fled from her memory, leaving behind only glimpses. She did not want to think about it. There was pain there, she knew that as surely as her name, but she couldn’t explain how. Her instincts made her occupy her mind. _It was only a dream._

Faye was sitting on her bed chewing on dried meat when Sindri arrived. She looked up to see the realm tear in her living room. The realm tear radiated energy as Sindri stepped through it. He carried a small tome under his arm. Faye’s heart leapt in excitement. She stood up quickly and went to him.

“Sindri!” Faye said. “You found something?”

“Hello, to you too, my dear,” Sindri said. “No need to worry yourself! I’m not grievously injured or anything.” His voiced dripped sarcasm, which made Faye bite her lip to hide a grin, but she still blushed in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she said, chagrined. Sindri chuckled at her expression.

“Come now, you make it too easy,” he said with a grin. As quick as it had come, however, his grin faded. He seemed on edge about something.

They walked to her room and Sindri set the tome down on her bed and sat. The book showed signs of age. The leather binding was creased and wrinkled, and discolored in places. Faye sat down next to Sindri and took the tome in her lap. The cover held no title.

She opened it.

“That was not an easy find,” Sindri said, his voice odd. “It was deep in the Vault.”

“How did you find it?” Faye asked.

“It lay in the section of the library that contained many books from realms other than our own. Realms _other_ than the Nine we know.”

Faye’s heart beat faster. _The realms Týr visited_ , she thought with excitement. As she turned to the first page of the tome, she was surprised to see that it was in a tongue she could read. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the title _. Political Factions on Olympus._

“It’s written in a Midgardian language!” Faye said, shocked.

Sindri nodded. “Týr had no desire to hoard information. He wanted it to be free to those who could read it. And so, he had his scholars translate the works he had gathered to the most common languages on Midgard.”

“Olympus?” Faye wondered aloud.

“A seat of power, Faye,” Sindri said. His face was grim as he spoke. “A seat of gods.”

“What does that have to do with...” she trailed off. An icy chill ran down her spine as she connected the dot. A sudden start of panic as realization dawned.

_He is a god._


	5. Desolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't intend for this chapter to be 9k words but it escaped me a little bit lol. Unfortunately there's no Kratos POV in this chapter due to pacing reasons. 
> 
> There's an important change from the previous chapter. The title of the book Sindri found had to change. Instead of "Pantheon of Olympus" it's now called "Political Factions of Olympus." I couldn't work with that first title. 
> 
> Not much action in this chapter but hope you guys enjoy it.

Sindri left a while later. He had insisted on staying, concerned for Faye, now that they knew the truth. Faye told him not to worry, however, and that she would try an glean as much from the book as she could. She still worried, though, failing to follow the advice she’d given Sindri. But she had calmed herself and realized she might have been too hasty in assuming the worst. There was no reason to believe that Kratos was a god, not yet anyhow. He did have prodigious strength, but that alone wasn’t enough.

Instead of futile worry, she focused her attention on the book.  Faye loved to read – to seek knowledge. But she hadn’t had the chance to add to her collection in such a long time.

Over the next two days, she scoured the new tome, looking for anything she could use. It wasn’t just the urgency of the situation that made her so adamant, but also the fact that she _actually_ held a book about something she had never contemplated. Realms other than the Nine.

She had heard of such, however. She had read about Týr and his travels. But her life had never been one of quaint contemplation. Faye had never had the time to consider such abstractions while the real world demanded all her attention. The war with the Aesir had dominated her life. It was all she had known. There had been the peaceful years, however, but that was when she was a young girl. Now, everything had changed.  

The tome proved to be of less use than Faye would have liked, but it did contain nuggets of information that seemed to be of great import. The volume was an examination of the political climate in a city called Athens. She was glad for Týr and his forethought. If he had not commissioned his scribes to translate these books, having to do so herself would have swallowed a great deal of her time. Faye began with an excerpt from the first chapter, which revealed the author’s name.

_Scribed by the hand of: Vasil Stavros,_

_A Royal Scirbe of Athens_

_The political factions in the great city of Athens are ever-changing and shifting, not unlike the gears of a clock. A book written on such, therefore, may seem an exercise in futility, due to its relevancy waning very quickly. However, a great shift in power has occurred on Olympus in recent weeks that demands recording. It has left the members of these factions scrambling for stability. With the death of Lord Ares, and the ascension of a new God of War, the factions of Athens are in flux and vying for dominion._

_As we know, all factions are led by their respective god. Before the death of Lord Ares, his faction was not one that held sway in Athens, due to their leader, Duke Elias Demosthenes’ erratic and unpredictable behavior. This, of course, mattered little to Lord Ares, as he made apparent his disdain during his visits to our city in the earlier years of his reign. The appointment then of Demosthenes as the leader of the Ares Faction by their god was a matter of some debate – indeed, it confounded even me – due to its apparent randomness. At the time of his appointment, Demosthenes was an old man, and resting on the last legs of his influence in his own faction. An internal vote was to be drawn among the members of the Ares Faction to remove Demosthenes from his position due to his age and frailty. That was until Lord Ares appointed the man as the leader of his faction during a particular visit to Athens. This appointment occurred at a gathering of the faction that Lord Ares himself had commanded. It is said Lord Ares’ face held an expression of vague amusement as old Demosthenes knelt before his god in acceptance of his appointment._

_That event was the last active role Lord Ares took in Athens. As the years grew long, Lord Ares’ behavior grew more warlike. His divine indifference towards Athens became something worse during his last months as the God of War. Before Lord Ares decided to sack and destroy our city, the Zeus Faction held sway in Athens. This mattered very little, in fact, as peasants and noblemen alike were killed indiscriminately by the minions of the then God of War. Among the casualties were many members of the Zeus Faction, including its appointed leader and the then ruler of Athens, King Linard Cyril. Dear readers, it is not my place, as a scholar, to place judgement upon the actions of a god. I am simply thankful to have survived the destruction – and most thankful to our new God of War for bringing us peace._

Faye’s eyes widened at this. That was much to take in for her. This method of governing a city was not something she was familiar with. Realms such as Vanaheim and Alfheim employed monarchic and feudalistic system of rule, with noblemen and women vying for power and influence among the court of their king or queen. She’d read about the intrigue and the deception that was ever-present in the courts of these kingdoms. But there was one big difference between those kingdoms and Athens. It was that Athens was under direct influence of a pantheon, and their gods seemed to be directly involved. Not that cities and kingdoms on Midgard didn’t feel the weight of the Aesir in their lands; they did so very much, in fact. However, while Asgard held a large influence in Midgard, it was less pronounced due to the two realms being separate entities. Asgardians and the Aesir did concern themselves with the political happenings on Midgard; but that concern was a matter of some triviality due to its lack of importance when compared to the more immediate happenings on Asgard itself, which drew most of the Asgardians’ attention.

Faye’s thoughts, however, drifted to the last paragraph of the excerpt _. This Ares destroyed an entire city?_ Faye thought, feeling sick. The God of War of any pantheon held a unique position. His duty was always to take up arms only in defense of his people, to protect, and to never seek out conflicts that resulted unnecessary deaths. The title of God of War, then was something of an oxymoron, for, the best God of War was one who reigned in peace, and avoided conflict at any cost, to best protect his subjects.

Faye knew this to be an idealized perspective, however. Something children learned from their tutors and their parents to provide them with a kind outlook and temperament. _So what of Týr?_ Faye wondered. The Aesir God of War had been an enigma among the Aesir. The only one among them that had displayed any sense of honor and goodness. He had served his people until the last, always seeking to unite instead of divide.

The last part of what Faye had read also drew her curiosity. _A new God of War that brought them peace_ , she thought, wondering. Could he have been like Týr? Another god, bringing an end to tyranny of his fellow and protecting the people? She didn’t know.

Faye noted with surprise that the sun had begun to set. Her cabin had grown dark, gloom settling like a blanket. Faye set the tome aside. She stood up and retrieved a candle and a light. She lit the candle and set it on her side table. She settled in and continued reading by the flickering orange light.

_Now that the dust has settled, and reconstructions have been underway for some months, the Athena Faction holds sway, trailed very closely in influence by the Zeus Faction. With the Athena Faction holding fast, its leader, Her Royal Highness, Queen Demetra Cleisthenes, reigns as monarch of Athens – elevated from her previous rank of Duchess – with the blessing and influence of the Goddess of Wisdom behind her._

_The members of the Athena Faction represent the ruling class of Athens during this period, and to them has fallen the responsibility of governing the city, and the villages and townships that owe Athens fealty. Less pressing responsibilities – but nonetheless vital – are held by factions further down the hierarchy. The members of the Zeus Faction, with the second to most influence, oversee the reconstruction efforts in the city, and have done so for the past month – with great progress and success._

_Factions further down the hierarchy hold to the day to day responsibilities of the city, such as municipal needs and the local concerns of the citizens of Athens._

_All this being said, dear readers, you are no doubt wondering at my lack of mentioning the proverbial elephant in the room. That is – the faction of our new God of War. The members of the Ares Faction – those that survived – have either left the city or been drained of influence after the death of their god. There is an uneasiness in the courts at the hole left in our numbers. Our new God of War has remained aloof on Olympus since his ascension, and has not deigned even to appoint a leader for his faction. This indifference displayed is eerily similar to that of his predecessor. It is too early as yet, to tell how events will unfold, but a missive from Olympus has eased the tensions in the courts somewhat. Received the week previous to the words you read before you, this missive – spoken by Athena, our Goddess of Wisdom herself, and scribed and read by her attendants – detailed that our new God of War was, as yet, still getting accustomed to his station. She went on to say that we, of Athens, should expect an active role from him soon, in the coming weeks. This ‘active role’ we can surmise will most likely be the creation of his faction and the appointment of a faction leader. We shall welcome Lord Kratos, our new God of War, who finally brought us peace from the numerous wars waged by his predecessor._

Faye shot up in bed, her eyes were wide as she felt the blood drain from her face.  _Lord Kratos? The God of War?_ That was the piece of information she’d been looking for, yet dreading at the same time. Her heart raced, and her mind was a tempest, working through the information and its implications.

Knowing this now, one thing was certain in her mind. She could not afford to antagonize Kratos. He was a god, yes, the Olympian God of War, but Faye had no notion of his true power. A god, by definition, was obviously invested to the hilt with power, capable of massive feats of strength and magic. If a battle ensued between her and Kratos, the damage to her forest would be catastrophic, and the destruction of her ward would be all but guaranteed. It would end with the Aesir coming down upon her, and her efforts of the past four years would crumble.

Faye calmed herself with effort, and paused. The author, Stavros, seemed reverent towards Kratos, and grateful for him. _He said Kratos brought them peace,_ Faye reflected _. Relieved the people of his predecessor’s oppression_. And since her encounter with him, he had kept his word of peace. He couldn’t be an enemy to her, could he? By the account she had read so far, Kratos seemed – in a way – like Týr. Deep down, a part of her wanted to believe that was true. _I don’t believe that_ , Faye insisted to herself immediately. _I can’t. Not without proof._ She knew she was jumping to conclusions. It was foolish to allow your emotions to dictate your thoughts or actions. Especially, when logic hinted at entirely contrary truths.

 _Besides_ , _what god would abandon his throne and his people?_

What storm had led Kratos here? Had he renounced the title of God of War? He’d said that he’d come here to get away from war. Was he a coward? Faye snorted softly at the thought. _Impossible_. Yet, did not his fellow gods care about his absence? She had no answers. Yet, she couldn’t think of any reason how a god from a full pantheon could possibly end up at her doorstep. It made no conceivable sense.

Faye breathed deep, collecting her thoughts. _I have to tread carefully now_ , she thought. She had to start with reading the rest of the tome and scouring it for any more useful bits of information she could glean about Kratos. Then, she would plan.

She continued reading.

⬗

Faye stood with Sindri outside her cabin, stretching her legs and feeling the cold air on her cheeks. The book sat inside, having given up all its secrets to her. _Which were few enough_ , she thought bitterly. She had studied it for the past two days, but, unfortunately, had not found any information that proved useful for her situation. The tome delved into the political workings of Athens and Olympus, but rarely talked about the gods themselves, unless it was to mention their political affiliations and the deeds they accomplished. Of Kratos, it said little. It was frustrating, but not something she had not expected.

“So,” Sindri began. “A God of War at your doorstep, is it, Faye?” Snow crunched under his feet as he paced idly.

Faye grimaced. “Yes.”

Sindri’s brow knitted in thought. “How do you figure he wound up here?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” she said with a scoff.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Sindri. I can’t very well ask him to leave now, can I?”

“What of the book? Anything else important?”

“Just what I told you,” she winced. “It didn’t prove as useful as we would have liked.”

Faye felt uneasy. _I can’t ask that of him. It’s too dangerous, if it’s even possible to begin with._ She stifled a groan of frustration, trying to act normal. Sindri had already gone above and beyond in his aid for her. Asking for this task – which she didn’t doubt he’d say yes to, even if out of obligation, if not love – would make her even infinitely more guilty. A groan escaped her lips, but she caught it. Sindri didn’t fail to notice, however.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said curtly.

“Ah,” he said, a flicker of understanding swept across his face and he smiled in that insufferable way he did every time he knew the thoughts behind her eyes. “It’s that, is it? Out with it then, Faye.”

“It’s what?” she said defensively. Sindri laughed. “I know you, Faye. I know how you get when you want to ask something of me.”

Faye did not stifle her groan this time, doubling over as if punched in the gut. “Sindri,” she said sufferingly. “I can’t.”

Sindri came closer to her and stood, hands in his trouser pockets, looking into her eyes. His voice was soft when he spoke. “I know what you must wonder,” he said. “The reason for our unconditional aid of you. You must wonder, if we will withhold it one day, for one reason or another, thinking the debt paid.”

Faye grimaced at his bluntness. “Sindri, please—” He interrupted her, raising a finger.

“Let me have my say, Faye. This needs to be said.” Faye fell silent, dreading his next words. Sindri continued, his voice solemn, but... strained.

“I have tried many times to convince myself that I cannot carry the blame of what Thor did with our weapon,” he said. “For if I did, it would crush me under its weight. I know for a fact that my brother blames himself. Not a day went by – when we were still together – that I wouldn’t hear him muttering to himself about his part in that abomination.”

Sindri’s soft sigh wrenched Faye’s heart. “But I am not that strong, Faye. I could not live my life, if I had that enormity weighing on my soul,” he smiled wanly. “So, instead of bowing under that pressure, I do what I can to help. I do not hold any illusions about balancing the scales, I am not a fool. Nor, do I help you, as I do, out of some foolish attempts to assuage my own conscience,” he clicked his tongue in distaste, then met her eyes. “None of that. Brok and I help you – and always will – for one simple reason,” his lips curved upwards in a bright smile. “You’re our _family,_ fool woman!”

Warmth flooded her at those words. A wonderous light she hadn’t felt in, what seemed, an eternity. Faye launched herself at Sindri, taking him into an embrace. Tears escaped her eyes, unbidden, as she held to him, like she would to a rock in a raging sea. “Ah, Faye,” he said softly. “All those books stuffed in your head seem to push out the tidbits that should be obvious.”

Faye blushed through her tears and laughed dumbly, breaking the hug. Sindri looked to her, his lips quirking. “Now,” he said. “What is it you need?”

**Ω**

Sindri walked the ethereal land before him, a flat plain that stretched in every direction. The terrain was a strange brownish gray, shot through with sickly green splotches seemingly at random. It was hard as stone, but not lifeless as he might have once expected. Small purplish-green fronds dotted the ground periodically, swaying in an incorporeal breeze. They were the only greenery to be seen, much smaller and less substantial than plant life in the real world, but It was still odd to him to see vegetation in a place like this. The land stretched flat as far as he could see with no hint of a break. The sky above was a vibrant seascape of greens, blues, purples, shifting and swirling like spilled paint, never still. The realm-between-realms was just that, a place of transit between destinations. The _transitional realm_ , his tutor had often named it. A convenience borne of this method of travel was that distance did not matter in this realm as much as it did in the physical realm. However, direction most certainly did.

Each step he took put forth in his mind an impression of the physical realm of Midgard, and his approximate location there. By the experience earned from the numerous years traveling this incorporeal land, Sindri judged he was near six hundred yards from Faye’s cabin, though he had only been walking for a scant few minutes. He took a step, and an impression flooded him, like a hazy painting taking shape in his mind’s eye. It was of aged sentinels, broken branches, snow covered ridges, and a swelling of the landscape in a timeless tide of frozen earth. _The Foothills_ , he surmised. He was walking toward the mountain. As Sindri walked, he pondered the task Faye had set for him.

It was not something he had ever tried, for, before this, he had had no desire or reason to do so. Travelling to another realm without a Bifrost was not an easy task. Not all dwarves had this ability, but those that did had to employ discipline and patience in their practice of it.   _A wonder then, that Brok managed it_ , Sindri thought with a snort. However, traveling within a single realm was much simpler than traveling from one realm to another. One always, _always_ had to respect the delicate nature of realm travel because of the ever-present danger of realmatic energy. This energy was investiture of the highest order, the kind that bound and held realms together. It could easily shred a careless traveler to pieces without a trace.

Sindri stopped in place. The impression of his location suffusing his mind, he saw hazily that he stood well into the Foothills that surrounded the mountain, but that was not important. Breathing deep, Sindri felt at the reserves of power inside him. He drew it forth, cloaking his body. Ripples of pale blue energy rose from his body, a churning wave that slowly infused him and rose from his skin like smoke.

Sindri knew the basic lore surrounding the Nine Realms, as well as any dwarf who used this ability. The Nine Realms resided separate from one another on nine planes of existence within a single cosmological subspace. A voice spoke from his memory, gruff and blunt, yet shrewder than any he’d known.

 _Most important in realm travel is direction, Sindri. The realms are Nine, but they rest on one plane_. _Nine and one._

 _Nine and one_. His tutor had been clear in that. That truth had been surprisingly simple to Sindri, even in his youth. But his tutor had laughed at that observation from his pupil. _Nature doesn’t work in riddles, lad,_ he’d said _. Leave that to the gods_. It was as he’d said. As simple as looking at a compass – with Midgard in the middle, the eight other realms lay on its proverbial prongs.

Sindri, facing a north-westerly direction, knew his destination to be Alfheim. But that was not where Faye had asked him to go.

 _This may not work_ , he thought grimly. If not, he would return to Faye empty-handed. But, if it did...

Inhaling deeply, he knelt down on one knee, face towards that not-stone ground of this realm. Sindri dropped both his palms to the ground, as if in a gesture of servitude. The pale blue ripples on his skin grew more intense, deepening to azure, shot through with streaks of violet. A few moments passed, enough to make the dwarf sigh. _I should have guessed_ — The ground he touched shattered outward into a circular mosaic nine feet wide, each tile almost a handspan wide. There was a precision to it, though, not violence. Sindri gasped, eyes wide. The effect was a result of a concentration of investiture on a single point in the transitional realm. Only, he did not expect it would have worked on the ground. The tiles reflected the colors of this realm, not unlike a broken glass pane.

Touching the edges of a realm was a strange experience to him, even more so now, as he had never done it this way before. Sweat beaded on his skin as he felt the energy bubbling just past his palms in that unknowable, searing space of unbridled investiture. The tiles almost gave way under his weight and before his palms, but held. The azure tide of power that enwreathed his arms and hands billowed and undulated as he channeled it through them. The mosaic tiles began to glow a searing white as his power proliferated them in a wave – then with a push, they gave way. A blazing whiteness flooded his vision as he fell through the radiant opening, moving as if through an ocean of honey. He had to shut his eyes hard against the glowing brilliance. Instead of the dark of his eyelids, he saw crimson.

There was no substance to this place, it was something other than even the transitional realm. There was no ground, no sky, only pure whiteness. Sindri floated slowly through the spectral domain of investiture between realms – the most dangerous part of his journey. He found himself starting to panic, the sensation of sinking feeling alien to him. He did not need to breathe, however; as his own investiture sustained him. The power around him prodded every inch of his body in a singular desire to rip him apart. It was not a violent desire, for it was not sentient. It was the raw power that held realms together, and that power sought equilibrium – to which Sindri’s presence was an affront. He forced himself to relax. His own power shielded him from harm. He could not see it – for he dared not open his eyes – but he knew it had grown an intense azure, almost black around the edges, lining his body in protective shroud. _Now comes the tricky part_ , he thought with gritted teeth, his vision still crimson.

If his destination had been Alfheim, his next step would have only been to open a tear. Then, a simple matter of stepping out into its physical realm.

It was not that easy this time, however, for he knew his destination, but did not know which way it lay. He could not be certain where he would be spit out. _I must try_ , he thought. Gritting his teeth again, Sindri thrust his hands forward and _gripped_ that unfathomable fabric of an unknown realm. He could feel the strange sensation in his hands, as if he were gripping the air itself. Tightening his hold, he yanked outward. A tearing sound filled his ears, reminiscent of parchment, yet with an incomprehensible weight. Eyes still shut, he parted the curtain to another realm.

And fell into a frigid ocean.

Waves of shock ran through Sindri’s body as the icy water swallowed him. He beat at the waves as the briny water rushed into his mouth. He shut it immediately, beating desperately at the waves. Brief scenes flashed before his eyes as he opened them. He turned his head upward to see utter blackness. Panic gripped him for a heartbeat, his lungs burning. Then, he thought to look down at his feet. Light. He beat at the water, managing to right himself and swam with all his strength towards that light.

Sindri broke the surface, gasping for breath. Cold air flooded his lungs as he coughed. _Winds of Hel_ , he cursed, trying to catch his breath. _Where am I?_

His vision cleared, revealing jagged spires of black rock that broke the water’s surface before a sheer ragged cliff higher than any he’d seen. Sindri looked up to a sky shrouded a dull gray, the sun nowhere in sight.  A lazy rainfall pattered the water as he took in his surroundings, shivering all the while. The immense cliff stretched far to both his right and left, with a horizon of naught but ocean behind him, cut through with sharp stone spires peeking dangerously as the waves undulated.

Sindri shivered again, keeping his head above water with an effort. He had to get on land. He could feel the frigid water sapping his strength. He looked back up the cliff. He could see nothing of its crest, his angle too steep. _Good enough_ , he thought, gritting his teeth.

Sindri’s arms swirled with azure luminescence as he tapped his reserves of power. In an unthinking rush, he gripped the air through the water and yanked. A fissure opened, exposing a strange place. He had no time to observe its oddity, however, as the ocean rushed through the tear, carrying him with it in a wave.

Sindri fell face first onto a hard surface, dazed, as a frigid torrent showered him – then stopped a moment later as the tear closed. He groaned, his body aching with the impact and the cold. His reserves of power had also diminished, leaving him feeling wrung out. He always felt this way after transitioning. The process drained him. It would regenerate, however, but that always took time. He cursed, feeling a fool. He’d not felt this way since his first days learning realm travel. Blinking tired eyes, he gathered his feet and rose.  

His eyes focused, revealing a place that was not entirely... right. Drained of colour, the canopy of sky above was a shifting, yet monotone gray, shot through with furrows of black. The ground, he saw, showed similarities of that colorless uniformity. It seemed covered in a layer of dust.

“Odin’s eye,” he cursed softly. “What has happened here?”

There was something undoubtedly wrong with this realm’s transitional plane. By the immutable laws of nature, the colours and flavours of a realm were reflected in its transitional plane. For instance, Midgard’s transitional realm was reminiscent of its fecundity and the multifarious nature of life that resided there. Similarly, the transitional planes of realms such as Muspelheim and Niflheim gave the not-so-subtle impressions of the searing reds and sickly greens of their respective realms. Such impressions and flavorings were what distinguished each realm’s transitional plane from one another.

This place, however... it was lifeless. If even a transitional plane could be called such.

Sindri walked forward, letting the impressions wash over him. He saw the top of a cliff, the same cliff he had observed from its base when he had plunged into the ocean. Perhaps the high ground would let him see where he stood.

Sindri opened a tear and stepped out into the chill rain. Wind assailed him as he gained his bearings. The clifftop was barren, facing that unending ocean that he had fallen into. He stepped as close to the edge as he dared, which came to a sharp point.  Ahead was a sheer drop to the sea below with its dangerous spires of black rock. Far off to his left lay an archipelago of jagged islands of numerous sizes, scattered across the sea like a god’s abandoned toys. Sindri squinted through the rain. It was almost too far to see, but nestled against two large hills, climbing its slopes in a large swath, he could see a smattering of broad, square shapes of white rock. _A city?_

He turned from the ocean and started. There, set against the cliffside stone was a metal... monument. Small steps led up to it. Almost fourteen feet tall, it was a circular, convex slab of a faded brown metal etched and carved in magnificent detail. It was flanked by two statues that held shields of the same metal displaying similarly detailed etchings with a massive symbol dominating them. He walked closer, eyes widening as he realized that it was gold. _Ancient gold_ , he thought. He stood at the base of the steps.

On the convex metal slab – and the two flanking shields – was etched a symbol he had not seen before. A hollow circle, shaped as a strange horseshoe.

**Ω**

Faye did not leave her cabin that night, even as she wanted to. She did not know how long Sindri’s trip would take, but she found herself wishing she hadn’t asked it of him.

 _If something happens to him... how would I ever know?_ She shook her head, pacing around her cabin with a restless energy that she couldn’t dispel.

Faye could not be certain of anything. Asking Sindri to visit Athens was a gambit she had not wanted to contemplate, yet here she was. The possibility of him being intercepted by agents of Olympus – be they the actual gods, or their servants – was a very tangible threat. She could not know the political climate of Athens or Olympus with the absence of the pantheon’s God of War. It may well be possible that the pantheon was working toward discovering what had become of Kratos, if they did not already know. If these gods sensed Sindri – an unknown agent’s – investiture near their city and seat of power so soon after the disappearance of their fellow...

She had brought this up with Sindri before he’d left, trying to convince him that there might be another way.

“We can’t know, Sindri,” Faye had said. “If even your arrival goes unnoticed, it may not remain so for long. Could you avoid detection?”

Sitting on a stump, his brow was knitted in thought. “It won’t be easy, that’s for certain.”

“Then _don’t_ do it,” she insisted. “We will find another way. I was reluctant to propose this course. I will not risk your life in a realm I cannot possibly reach.” There had been a manic desperation in her voice. After his words earlier, the reality of his words had sunk deep into her soul. If ill befell him, she would never know. She had imagined herself then, waiting for him to return for days, weeks... months... never knowing for certain what had happened. Madness. 

Sindri shook his head. “We know naught of realms such as these, Faye,’ he said. “I am not certain that I could even get to it with my ability, but it is worth the trying. Our only other options, as I see it, are to look for more books such as the one I brought you – which offer scant little useful information we can use – or,” his tone was suddenly dry. “We push our wayward God of War to reveal his motives or leave. And I wager Odin’s last eye that would end poorly.”

Faye winced. He was right. Going to Kratos’ home was the only way to gain tangible information on the man that could help her learn more about him. Pushing the man to confess his purpose here would be a gamble at best – even if he were likely to comply, which was far from certain – and disastrous at worst.

 And so, with misgivings tugging at her heart, she had let him go. But not before informing him of everything she had learned from the book. She’d told him all – the names of all Olympians mentioned, and what little she knew of Kratos. She would not have him arriving blindly.  

Sleep, again, proved elusive to Faye that night. Worry and uncertainty clawed inside her even as she tried to still her mind. Tossing and turning proved fruitless. Exasperated, she thrust aside the covers and stood up. She donned her bearskin, leaving her hair down around her shoulders, and stepped out into the chill air. A blanket of stars overhead cast a ghostly light on the forest floor, bathing the pines in a soft glow. She paid no heed to where she was going, letting her mind pick its way through the maze of her thoughts.

They drifted, inevitably, to the reason Faye was here, walking this land when her home was an entire realm away. The war, the Aesir, her people and her family. Faye’s heartache at these thoughts was as sharp as it had ever been. That surprised her, sometimes. Why should it hurt so much even after all this time? A part of her whispered the truth, sharp as any blade. That she was weak. That her Mother’s faith in her had been a thing borne of desperation, not true belief.

Her jaw clenched, hands balling into fists as she held back the tears. _Stop it_. Faye hated herself when she got this way. The darkness within her whispered these untruths, and the blades of despair cut at her confidence. After what she had suffered, Faye should have developed callouses as hard as the bark of the sentinels she walked amongst. But she hadn’t. And she did not know how long she could keep this up.

Faye stopped in place, dragging her mind back to her surroundings. She had walked into a clearing, a cabin lay a hundred paces in front of her, sturdy and simple. Not hers. _Why did I come here?_ she wondered bitterly. Her uncertainties had taken root here. Things had been simple before this man came along. _Simple, like what?_ A treacherous part of her whispered. _Simple, like spending years alone? Simple, like not knowing your purpose? A blind fool, stumbling through each day, faith held unerringly in a dead Mother._

She could not keep the tears back. Anger rose within her to accompany her despair – anger at her own weakness – a burning in her veins. She wiped her face and turned back to her cabin. 

A glow lit the pines in front of her, golden, brilliant. Faye spun, jaw dropping as her bleary eyes focused on Kratos’ cabin. A light came from within, a luminescence that suffused the forest around it, bark and leaves and pine needles reflecting radiance. It was golden, familiar as a sunrise. From under the door and within the cracks of the woodwork, the light poured out, as if the cabin were about to explode. She walked closer, closing the distance. Wincing at the brightness, she held her hand out to shield her eyes. What was this?

Pain shot through Faye’s body, as if a beam of that luminescence had run through her gut like a sword. A short shriek left her as she fell to her knees, trembling. She tried to gather her wits, but her mind was slow to respond. It took her a moment to realize that the pain she felt was inside her head. She groaned, doubling over in the snow, gripping her head in both hands as thunder rumbled through it. An overwhelming cacophony of sounds. Words. Voices. That dreadful feeling returned. The feeling that _something_ was close.

_It should’ve been him._

It was a distinct voice that cut through the discord, through her pain.

_Do you hear me? Him, not you._

Something was burgeoning in her mind, Faye felt it through the noises, a blossoming of... knowledge.

A hand fell on her shoulder. “Huntress!”

Everything retreated. The knowledge that had begun to burgeon in her mind seeped away from her awareness like water held in cupped hands. The sudden emptying of sensations made her gasp for breath, as if she’d been underwater for hours. Faye scrambled to her feet, falling back to the snow as her legs refused to hold her. She backed away on hands and knees from whoever was accosting her, before her eyes focused on Kratos. Backed against a stump, she sat breathing heavily. The golden light she had witnessed from Kratos’ cabin was gone, along with the cacophony and pain that had assailed her senses. _What is happening to me?_ First it had been that strange dream, and now this.

Kratos’ ashen skin reflected the starlight, giving him a ghostly aura. His normally stoic face gave hints of concern. Brows knitted, lips turned downward in a frown. “I heard you screaming, Huntress” he said, standing up from where he’d knelt by her side.

“You were in pain,” Kratos said. “What has happened?”

Faye shook her head in confusion, breathing hard. She could not even begin to answer that question.

Kratos’ frown deepened. His deep voice was softer as he spoke. “You were curled up in the snow, clutching your head in pain. What—”

“I don’t know,” Faye said, cutting him off before he could voice the question. “I don’t know,” she said again.

She stood on shaky legs, looking to him. “What was the light coming from your cabin?” her voice harsher than she’d intended. Kratos seemed puzzled. “What light?”

“The golden light!” Faye snapped. “It bathed the forest, coming from inside your cabin. What was it? Do not lie, I know w—” she bit off the comment. She reeled in her temper, calming her frayed nerves. _I know who you are_ , she’d been about to say. She could not give away that advantage. Not yet.

Kratos’ expression tightened, jaw setting. “I have told you, I do not lie. There was no such light.”

Faye drew her lips to a line. _In my head, then?_ Even as a part of her wanted to, she did not doubt his words. A god he may be, but Kratos did not seem the type to lie. He was too much a solider to play word games.

The more worrisome fact was the truth behind his words. If he hadn’t cast that light, then what...?

Her senses were betraying her. The voices she heard, she could not cast them off as being simply a dream, or hallucination. These... episodes seemed to be getting worse. It had only been a dream when it first struck her, but now, when she was wide awake? Why? What did it mean?

Faye suddenly felt exhausted, her lack of rest catching up to her. Her body sagged as she looked to Kratos. “I apologize,” she said softly. “I need to rest.”

He did not stop her as she turned to go.

**Ω**

Sindri made his way through the grey world of the transitional plane. The horizon was a streak of grey and black, along with every damnable thing around him. Impressions ran through his mind as he walked. He had decided to head in the direction in which he had seen the city of white rock. The impressions that were put forth in his mind were of utter sterility. The curled, hilly landscape was home to dead grasses, brittle as parchment. Trees of varying sizes scattered the land, all devoid of leaves that had fallen out and blown away in the wind, leaving the sentinels’ dead branches to scratch the air like skeletal fingers.

Sindri had exited the transitional realm to confirm these visions of lifeless desolation, almost distrusting the impressions in his mind. But what he had seen had not been far off. Worse, in fact, for all its reality. As he had walked the wet, yet dry land, flying insects dotted the air periodically, wings buzzing. The creatures flew close to him, almost landing, – letting him see their strange webbed bodies and multi-faceted eyes – as if they wondered why he was not dead. Sindri shivered, not entirely from the cold. He got the faint, yet distinct impression that these creatures were not a sign of fertility. They seemed to him harbingers of the slow rot that sweeps a land after an immense loss of life.

Faye had expressed great fears that agents of Olympus might accost, and even harm him if they sensed his presence. Yet, he had not seen a single soul as of yet, much less agents with power. He returned to the transitional plane and continued his way toward the city.

He came upon it after a time, an impression of crumbling walls and a broken gate filling his mind. He paused. The hazy composition in his mind put forth a broken, shattered city. The ocean had encroached past the city walls a great deal, as the city had been built against the shoreline. With no desire to revisit the swim that had welcomed him here, Sindri walked forward until the water seemed to only be ankle deep – rather than past his head as it seemed to be nearest the walls – and stepped out through the tear.

He stepped out onto a city street and into the water he had seen, which came up past his ankles. The grey-green muck was oddly thick – gnarled branches and long blades of thick brown grass floating within – swallowing all signs of the cobbled road. The ceaseless rain had stuck his hair to his head in a wet mop, pattering against his chestplate. Sindri cursed at the wet – he had long since given up any hope of being dry – and took in his surroundings.

The city sprawled on the slopes of two enormous hills, nestling the coastline that had drowned under the rising sea. Southward, the city walls had been the first casualty of the soupy ocean that had swallowed half the city. All he could see of them were the crumbling wall-walks and battlements – with broken guard towers dotting the half-circle perimeter of the walls that ran along the length of the shore. The sea had come up well past half the height of the walls. He saw no signs of life other than the flying insects he’d seen earlier.

“Odin’s eye,” he breathed. “What sort of desolation caused this?”

Travelling through the barren plains to get here, he had suspected something had happened, that this land had been through some sort of cataclysm. But this ruined city galvanized his suspicions into certainty.

There was only one way to find out more. Sindri trudged through the water deeper into the once-metropolis, making his way through its broad streets and broken whitewashed stone homes. Corpses dotted the city streets, one nearly every forty paces. They had been slashed open, crushed, and dismembered. His blood ran as cold as the rain as he plodded through the ruins. The buildings – those that were not completely flattened– showed signs of pillaging and slaughter. Pink streaks marbled many of the white stone buildings, blood that had washed away in the rain. Doors lay shattered open, its denizens likely fled or worse. Sindri gathered the courage to look inside one home. What he saw turned his stomach, a green pallor no doubt coming to his face. Jagged streaks of dry blood coated the walls, rotting corpses floated in the ankle-deep muck that had encroached even inside. A man, woman, and child, he saw, their faces were bloody ruins.

He quickly moved on, sickened.

Sindri walked further uphill into the city. What he surmised was the destroyed residential district gave way to destroyed estates and broken sculptures dotting the intersections. The water that covered the lower half of the city finally abated, the cobbles instead wet from the rain. A precise geometric plan was evident in the layout of the city streets as he made his way toward its center. The estates were large, intricately carved works, with fenced-in flower gardens. Many were destroyed, however, showing similar signs of slaughter and pillaging he’d seen in the residential district. The flowers and grasses in these gardens showed the same degeneracy of the plant life out in the plains, their leaves withered and brittle. Sindri continued on, shaking his head at the detritus and chaos.

He froze in place, the street he walked widened ahead, giving way to a square with a fountain at its center. Here, dotting the porches and side-streets winding away from the square were... people. Their postures indicated a despondence that Sindri could not begin to fathom. They lay huddled against walls, or simply sprawled uncaring in the rain across the city square’s cobbles.

Something incongruous caught Sindri’s eye against the monotonous grey gloom that seemed to clog the land like a physical presence.  Here, above the square were strange, small motes of light flitting in the wind and rain, glowing with a soft light. They floated with no apparent pattern, as if tugged by the wind itself.

He dragged his eyes from the strangeness, back toward the scattered forms huddled in the square. He walked among them, prodding them and trying to bring them out from within themselves. Some responded, the most common question on their lips was to inquire if he had food to spare. Sindri gave them what little he could from his satchel, earning disbelieving stares, as if they’d never imagined he would accede to their absent-minded requests. He inquired about the city and its situation, but earned scant responses. The wretches – men and women both – were fevered, weak, and starving. Many had lost limbs; legs and arms amputated and stitched back up with haste. None had the will or energy to do anything other than beg. Sindri did not know how long these people had been this way, but surely it could not be long? _It cannot have been more than a fortnight, else, they would have long since died of starvation._

The gloomy sky was darkening, the canopy of gray slowly dimming. The cursed rain showed no signs of abating. Sindri was nearly about to move on, and trek farther up the city when he noticed one man apart from the rest, sitting in a side alley off the square. He wore a faded, threadbare cloak, hood pulled up against the rain and arms tucked tight against his body. The man rocked back and forth in a slow motion. As he made his way closer, Sindri could hear faint mumbling from the man, frantic and febrile.

“... abandoned, why have they done so? We heard the titans’ thundering feet upon the land. Returned to us... through the haze of time, yes. Returned to us, now returned to the soil. Their corpses form mountains where there were none, and now—”

The man cut off at Sindri’s approach, alarm plain in his face. The tan-skinned face that regarded Sindri was creased and wrinkled, he suspected by something much worse than age. The man was as much near starvation as had been the people in the square, bald under the hooded cloak, his face shrouded in a greasy beard and mustache that was more salt than pepper.

“Who... who comes?” his back straightened against the wall, hollow eyes on Sindri. “Walking a dead city, a drowned city. Vultures perch atop its corpse! Who comes?”

“Odin’s eye,” Sindri muttered, mostly to himself. “I’ll find nothing here.”

The man seemed to find that notion amusing, for he giggled with a crazed air. “Nothing! Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Athens! Home to the sea! A god’s last gift, tinged with the blood and corpses of unfortunates. Prophecies we dared not tread upon, prophecies now manifest under our very feet! Such irony as to make Hades smile under his iron visage!” He giggled again.

Sindri paused. The man had at least confirmed one thing. This was indeed Athens. But Hades? _The God of the Underworld in this realm, was it not?_ Yes, Faye had told him the names of most of the Olympians, if not all. It could not hurt to question this man before moving on. _Ravings or not, they may contain truth._

“Who are the people in the square, old man? Where are the denizens of Athens, those that survived the sack?” Sindri asked.

All mirth fled the man’s face, suddenly becoming a mask of grief. “Spoils of war for carrion feeders! Defenders of the city, now defenders of this square. Oh,” the old man’s wrinkled mouth twisted in a grimace. “Their souls will remain without end! Wandering this world, nothing beyond death awaits them.”

Sindri shivered, considering the implication of those words. These men and women in the square had been defenders of the city? Why had they been left to rot? The darkening gloom seemed to settle on Sindri like a cloak then, his desire to return to Midgard strengthening with every moment spent in this bleak place. There was nothing here left. Answers eluded him. He almost turned from the madman, but one question tugged at him, demanding to be spoken, though he knew it would be fruitless to ask of a madman.

“Where are your gods?” he asked softly.

 “Our gods?” The madman cackled as if Sindri had told a great jest, belying the sudden grief that had overcome him not a moment ago. _Madness_ , Sindri thought. _But he hasn’t long to suffer it_. This man and those in the square would starve to death before too long. “Succor from the Olympians! The flesh from these bones will have sloughed away, the bones themselves turned to wet dust under Helios’ gift! Perhaps, then, succor will come,” The madman’s febrile laugh turned to a hacking cough. “We should have forseen, oh indeed, we were fools. Such fools!”

Sindri sighed. It was enough. He turned and began walking.

The madman still spoke behind him, cackling. “Ares’ death, a false rising of the sun, a fell thing. Such transferences of power drag bereavement and sorrow behind them like an unending cloak! The ascension of the Ghost of Sparta proved to be the cliff from which the world plummeted.”

Sindri froze, the madman’s cackling laugh chilling him to the bone. An echo of memory came back to him at those words; the day before when Faye had been speaking of Kratos.

_His skin is ashen. Pale as a ghost, body streaked with crimson markings._

He whirled and closed the distance in a couple of strides, crouching down in front of the madman and staring into his hollow, unfocused eyes. “Old man, who is the Ghost of Sparta?”

The madman gave him a skull’s grin. “Not from around here, are you, newcomer? The Ghost was who he was, a servant of Ares, yes, a warrior without parallel,” he scowled suddenly. “No doubt he was well fed, unlike those wretches in the square,” he said. Scowl deepening, he looked to Sindri. “Have you any food?”

Sindri drew his lips to a line, biting back a curse. Questioning a madman was a fool’s quest, he knew. This man’s thoughts seemed to tumble out of reach as easily as leaves on the wind. _A servant of Ares_... _Could it be?_ An inkling gnawed at Sindri, refusing to budge. But he could not be sure, and he was certain any more questions would prove as fruitless. He needed this man lucid, for he seemed to possess a latent knowledge that pushed at the surface of his insanity.

He set his jaw, as suddenly, a glow of an idea in his mind seemed to push aside the darkening gloom. “I do not have food,” he said. “But I have something else. Would you accept it?”

The madman narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Not food?” he growled. “Then what use is it?” He grumbled. “Oh, very well, let’s have it then!”

Sindri bid the man close his eyes. He narrowed his gaze again, grumbled, but complied.  Sindri extended his right arm, bringing the palm to rest on the madman’s chest, and commanded his power. His pale blue essence rose from the arm he’d extended, undulating almost questioningly. He _pushed_ , willing the power toward the madman in a rush. Exhaustion swept over Sindri in a sudden tide, dizziness assailing his senses. The madman gasped, eyes wide, as if coming alive for the first time in ages. Sindri fell back to the wet stones, body trembling uncontrollably with the amount of energy expended, his own breath coming in gasps. He looked toward the madman, who had stood, an expression of pure astonishment writ plain on his face.

“What...” the madman whispered, looking down at himself, then toward Sindri. “What did you do, stranger?”

Sindri took a moment, willing his trembling hands and his breathing to still. He felt exhausted, a great deal more so than he had even after transitioning. “A healing,” he breathed. “You were injured?”

The man paused, then nodded slowly. “Yes...” he said slowly, “A blow to my head,” and surprisingly, his eyes filled with tears. “I was trapped in my mind for... I do not know how long.”

He looked down at Sindri, trying to catch his breath on the ground. The man bent and helped him to his feet. “Thank you,” the man said, clasping Sindri’s hands, tears running crooked tracks down his weathered face, into his beard. “Thank you, stranger.”

Sindri nodded, a warmth inside him dispelling the exhaustion he felt somewhat.

“My name is Sindri. What of yours?” he asked.

“Vasil Stavros,” the old man said, smiling through tears, his voice quavering. “Once... a Royal Scribe of Athens.”

Sindri started, shocked. “Author of _Political Factions of Athens_?”

Stavros looked to him with surprise. “You have read it?”

“No,” Sindri said. “But a friend has.”

Stavros nodded, questions seemingly coming to his lips. But the man turned from Sindri to examine the alley where he had sat. No doubt appalled. Something caught the dwarf’s eyes. One of the motes of light that had floated out in the square had drifted down toward this alley. It hung in the air for a moment above Stavros before descending down and seeping into his skin. The old man gave no intimation that he felt anything untoward.

“Stavros, who is the Ghost of Sparta?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran into a problem with Stavros' character. I realized that Stavros wouldn't speak the same language as Sindri, but instead of coming up with a clunky lore deus ex-machina for that problem, I just decided to ignore it. I'm not sure if you guys noticed that but I wanted to mention it.


End file.
